


The Sweetest Smile

by FindingSchmomo



Series: Seijoh Sweets: Aoba Johsai Artisinal Bakery [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, literally just fluff, the only reason this is rated teen is because mad dog wont stop saying the word fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6207205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingSchmomo/pseuds/FindingSchmomo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyoutani Kentarou gets hired by the famed Seijoh Sweets: Aoba Johsai Artisanal Bakery but has to do all the menial jobs before he can get his hands on cake decorating. This wouldn’t be so bad if his co-worker would stop trying to take his damn picture and the owners weren’t so damn weird. AKA: The Aoba Johsai Bakery AU no one wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweetest Smile

**Author's Note:**

> check out my bro's sweet fanart for this fic I wrote:  
> http://harlequinpants.tumblr.com/post/140768603449/everyone-go-read-my-bros-fic-bc-our-bakery-au-is

“Can I help you?”

Kyoutani looks up at the cashier from where he’s crouched in front of the display. He glances back at the array of pastries and artisanal breads, carefully laid out behind the clear glass. His fingers twitch. Each pastry has a little note card in front of it, giving it a title, written in both Japanese and French.

Kyoutani straightens to a stand, only to slouch slightly as he stuffs his hands into his faded ripped jean’s pockets. He looks back over at the cashier, taking him in. He’s a bit shorter than Kyoutani, plain brown hair swept to the side in a boyish look. It’s cute, he thinks, and quickly denies. The cashier is wearing the bakery’s uniform, a long sleeved white pinstriped button up shirt with a pale blue--aqua?--bowtie. He sports a matching apron, the kind with the deep-v neck that makes Kyoutani want to look away for some reason.

Delicate white lettering on the apron shows off the name of the establishment, “Seijoh Sweets: Aoba Johsai Artisanal Bakery”. A little crown completes the fancy look. Kyoutani squeezes his hands tightly within his pockets, reminds himself this is a stupid idea and thinks about a way to escape the room.

The cashier is losing his patience, raising an eyebrow. Shit. Kyoutani pulls his hand from his pocket, the one crumpling the flier in his anxious grip. He drops the offending item onto the counter. He leans forward to do so, and in the process is able to catch an eyeful of the monogrammed name on the cashier’s shirt, _S. Yahaba._

Yahaba blinks, picking up the sheet of paper and opening up the chaotic folds. Kyoutani doesn’t wait for him, “I want a job.” He states, stuffing his hand back into his pocket and glaring to the side. From the corner of his eyes he can see Yahaba’s eyebrows furrow, glancing between the flier and Kyoutani.

“Did you just rip this off our window?” Yahaba mutters, smoothing it out on the counter with his forearm.

Kyoutani isn’t sure why his ears burn at the comment, nor would he ever admit to it even happening. “You don’t need it anymore. I want the job.” He growls, firmly.

Yahaba doesn’t look at him, “Whether you get the job or not isn’t up to me. But I’ll have you know, Seijoh Sweets demands a certain degree of character and respect from it’s employees.”

Kyoutani _scowls_ at the cashier, the _cashier_ who has the audacity to call him out like that. He’s used to the judgements, what with his black gages, dyed hair, piercings and thick eyeliner. But he’s used to the silent judging, the fear in a mother’s eyes as she sidesteps out of the way, the frown of a senior citizen who subtly shakes his head as Kyoutani makes his way through. He’s not used to the direct comments.

“Do you even have a resume?” Yahaba continues, without letting Kyoutani respond to his jeering. Kyoutani grits his teeth behind his closed lips, because _shit_ _no I don’t_ , but he refuses to back down now.

He’s about to respond when the door flies open behind Yahaba, and two men storm into the front of the bakery. One, the tallest, with wavy styled brown hair, sports the same uniform and apron combo as Yahaba. The other has a waist apron, and his white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

“Iwa-chan, what’s done is done. I refuse to acknowledge this issue any longer.” The tallest huffs, going through the drawers behind the counter as if searching for something.

“If you just _apologized_ and _unfired--“_

 _“Never_. I stand by my decision. He was a terrible addition to the bakery.”

“You’re so _petty_.”

“And you’re _too forgiving_. Talent means nothing with an attitude like that. Good riddance.”

“You’re one to talk about attitude.”

The taller man sticks his tongue out, “I’m a hard worker, Iwa-chan. And I know you love me, deep down behind that ugly scowl.” He straightens up, holding up the sheet of paper he’d been searching for triumphantly. The animosity in the air suddenly lost as the once bickering pair take stock of the other individuals in the room. The tall brunet recovers first, “Yahaba, is this customer being helped?”

“Actually, Oikawa-san--“

“I want a job.” Kyoutani interrupts, squeezing his hands within his pockets and glaring fiercely at the wall behind the trio.

“Oh?” Oikawa breathes. His brown eyes run along Kyoutani’s entire body, taking in every aspect of him until Kyoutani feels he’s been laid completely bare, “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Kyoutani growls back, taking a step forward to show his commitment.

Oikawa smirks at him, making Kyoutani shudder internally. The man beside keeps his face neutral as he speaks up, “What’s your name?”

“Kyoutani Kentarou.”

“And your skills?”

Kyoutani isn’t used to the question. He’s used to simply being told that he has _none_. He swallows, keeps his eyes up and angry, “I can make flowers.”

Oikawa _chuckles_ and Kyoutani resists the urge to punch him, to punch him _and_ the snotty nosed cashier smiling behind his hand beside him. _Asshole_. The third man remains neutral, eyes squinting at him.

“That’s so cute.” Oikawa continues, much to Kyoutani’s chagrin, “He’s so angry. But he makes flowers? He’s like a puppy. A very angry puppy.”

The third man nudges him in the side. Kyoutani is grateful, because it slides the smirk right of the brunet’s face. Oikawa straightens up then, shaking his head to shift his bangs back into place, “Alright. You’re hired.” He grins.

Kyoutani isn’t expecting that, and neither are Oikawa’s companions by their shocked expressions.

“Oikawa-san, he just came in from the _street_ shouldn’t we be more careful?” Yahaba insists. Kyoutani sends him a wrathful glare.

“Yahaba is right, Oikawa. We went through resumes and interviews for Kindaichi and Kunimi last week, this is insane.”

“Oh Iwa-chan,” Oikawa begins in a tone that can only be described as _oozing,_ eyes sharp and dark and sinister, “Don’t be so _petty_.”

* * *

 

“You’re doing great.”

“This is fucking stupid.” Kyoutani growls, as he hauls the bags of flour from the truck into the back of the bakery. He passes by Kindaichi, who shuffles quickly past him, head down and afraid. Good. Kyoutani’s not in the mood to deal with people.

He practically throws the bags down in their spot, near Iwaizumi’s work table. “Careful.” The man remarks gruffly. He has his bowtie unraveled, hanging around his shoulders. His collar is unbuttoned, along with the first few buttons of his shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to this elbows and his thick arms are covered in flour. Kyoutani quickly looks away with a scowl, hurrying back out to the truck.

Matsukawa is still leaning against the outdoor wall, calling meaningless words of encouragement as Kindaichi heaves a large bag of flour into his arms. “Just a few more left.” Matsukawa comments, yawning into his hand. He wears a waist apron just like Iwaizumi, and Kyoutani too, now. He’d been given the choice between the two styles and grabbed at the less offensive one. At the time he knew three people at the bakery, and had decided the pair in tuxedo aprons--which is what the v-neck ones were apparently called--were assholes he wanted little to do with.

Matsukawa has a bakers hat on too, white and a bit too small for the amount of hair messily situated on his head. Kyoutani is sporting one as well, and he’s still debating whether he’ll be keeping it or not. He grabs the last two bags of flour and heads back inside. Matsukawa follows after him, “Once you put those down, find Makki. He’s looking for ya.”

Kyoutani doesn’t acknowledge the order, simply heads to Iwaizumi’s station to place the bags on the ground. Matsukawa doesn’t keep on this path, instead he scoops an arm around Kindaichi’s shoulder, steering him toward the supplies closet, most likely to hand him a broom.

Oikawa is leaning against the table Iwaizumi is working at now, sleeves carefully folded up. He’s leaning over, almost at a right angle, elbow bent on the table and hand delicately supporting his visage. His eyes are hooded as he watches Iwaizumi work at the dough. Kyoutani doesn’t want to stick around.

“The hell do you want, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi growls out.

“Just supervising.” Oikawa hums with a lecherous little smile. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the comment, but Kyoutani swears he can see a tug of a smile on his neutral lips. Disgusting.

“Oh, Mad Dog Chan.” Oikawa calls out before Kyoutani can escape. He tenses, hands squeezing into fists at his side as he turns around, “Makki-chan is looking for you. He’s in the little office over there.”

Iwaizumi looks over at him as well, “If you see Watari in there can you send him over here when he’s done? Thanks.”

Kyoutani nods as he heads over in the direction, ignoring the whine slithering out of Oikawa’s throat about how _Iwa-chan doesn’t appreciate my company_ , followed by the disinterested gruff response, _I see you too much as it is_.

Kyoutani steps into the small office, the only one the bakery has, used mostly by Oikawa as a workspace to plan out new designer delectables. He shares the space with Hanamakki who runs the social media and advertising aspects of the bakery.

The office is different than on his first day, with the center table pushed against the counter that hugs the wall. Hanamaki’s desk chair has been wheeled into the free space, a tripod has been placed a few feet in front of it with an expensive camera attached to its top. Kyoutani enters as Watari stands from the chair, giving a quick bow. Hanamakki gives him the OK with a flick of his wrist, and lands his eyes on the newest employee.

“Ah, Kyoutani, good. You can be after Yahaba.” Hanamaki motions for him to stand back. Watari slips out of the office before Kyoutani can even be bothered to relay his message. Instead, he watches as Yahaba, who had been in the room as well, apparently, takes a seat.

“What’s going on.” Kyoutani demands.

“Hanamakki is updating the website. Don’t you read e-mails?” Yahaba retorts, before smiling into the lens. Kyoutani growls under his breath, glaring at the wall. He watches Yahaba from the side however, noticing his rehearsed smile. It doesn’t crinkle his eyes like his normal smile does, the ones he gets when he jokes with Watari behind the counter in the morning, or when Oikawa compliments him on his design ideas for future pastries.

Not that Kyoutani had been paying attention to any of that.

“Your turn.” Hanamakki breaks his train of thought, and he looks up with a start before marching over to the vacated chair. To his surprise--and annoyance--Yahaba sticks around, standing behind the camera man. Kyoutani can’t help but scowl.

“You’ll scare all our potential customers.” Hanamakki comments with a nasty grin. Yahaba snickers into his hand. Kyoutani tenses in the chair, clenching his teeth behind his closed lips.

“No, that’s worse.” Yahaba chuckles, and his eyes crinkle like they should as.

Kyoutani feels his ears burn, and he hopes the dumb cap he’s wearing covers them up, “Fuck off.”

“I need you to smile, kid.” Hanamakki continues, waiting.

Kyoutani squeezes his fingers into his palms, digging his nails into his skin, where they rest on his lap. He stares straight into the camera, trying his best not to glare and not to look away. The camera takes the shot.

“It’s no smile, but at least there’s no murderous rage behind your bland look.” Hanamakki acquiesces, showing the picture to Yahaba who frowns slightly. Kyoutani doesn’t have time for this and rises from his seat to storm out of the room.

Yahaba pokes his head out after him, and Kyoutani wonders what the hell he wants from him. Yahaba doesn’t spare him a glance, “Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san, you’re next!”

Kyoutani keeps moving, head down and pretends he isn’t disappointed.

* * *

 

Kyoutani growls, gripping the broom in his hand tightly. He’d been working at the bakery for almost a month now, and he still hadn’t been able to get his hands on cake decorating. The closest he’d gotten was bread making with Iwaizumi.

“You’ve missed a spot.” Yahaba comments, coming over to him. Kyoutani snarls, Yahaba grins, and snaps a picture with his phone. Kyoutani glowers.

“Shouldn’t you be behind the counter?” He snaps, ignoring the photograph. It had become Yahaba’s new obsession, to snap pictures of everything, and everyone. Although, Kyoutani’s almost certain that it’s mostly of himself. He doesn’t know what that would mean though.

“Nope. Kunimi’s cashier right now. I’m on break.” Yahaba shrugs, swiping through his phone. Kyoutani can see the slight disappointment flit through his eyes, especially as he sighs out, “Still no smiles.”

“Fuck off.” Kyoutani growls, glaring down at the floor as he sweeps. Yahaba lingers, watching him sweep with a pensive expression on his face. Kyoutani has never been a fan of being watched and tries to ignore him, despite how hot his ears seem to burn.

Thankfully, a distraction, steps in from the back, “Yahaba! Could you give me a hand with the new cake? I need your fine eye for detail.” Oikawa coos, flapping his hand at him in an annoying little wave. Kyoutani seethes, gripping the wood of the broom tighter in his clenched hands.

Yahaba smirks at him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sure your time will come soon enough.” He grins. Kyoutani is almost too distracted by the sudden touch to bite back a retort. He watches him saunter over to the door and Kyoutani’s shoulder feels like it’s on fire.

Oikawa suddenly pushes past Yahaba, however, rushing to the window wall of the bakery. “Hold on,” He murmurs, face pressing against the glass Watari had spent the morning cleaning. “Is that a _line_ outside Karasuno Kafe?” He shouts out in disbelief.

Kunimi hums from his post at the counter, flipping the page of his magazine, “It’s been like that the past week or so.”

“Has it?” Oikawa mutters, turning around, “What’s changed?”

Kunimi gives a shrug, not bothering to look up from his reading material. Oikawa looks back out across the street to the quaint little cafe. It had been there for as long as Seijoh Sweets, but had been in decline since it was handed over to new management. There were even talks of it closing down completely.

The door across the street opens, revealing Hanamakki and Matsukawa stepping out of the neighboring establishment. Oikawa blinks as they make their way over to the bakery, stepping in with piping hot cups of coffee.

“Makki, Matsun, report.” Oikawa orders, straightening up in front of them.

“What?” Matsukawa blinks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Why is Karsuno Kafe so popular suddenly?” Oikawa asks, crossing his arms.

Hanamakki gives a wicked grin, “Remember Kageyama?”

Oikawa’s expression falls, “You _can’t_ be serious.”

“Turns out he’s a genius at latte art, not just cake designs.” Matsukawa finishes with an impressed pursed lip. He takes another sip of his coffee. 

Hanamakki fishes out his phone, “Look, he made me Nico.” He shows off the picture of his drink taken minutes earlier, a detailed drawingof the anime idol from the shoulders upin her signature pose, hands pressed against her forehead. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“What is this?” Oikawa snaps, squinting at the phone.

“Nico is my wife. From the app game I keep telling you to download.” Hanamakki clarifies, snatching his phone back with a huff.

“No, I mean, how could you accept service from _Tobio-chan_?”

“Look,” Mattsun ignores, pulling out his own phone, “He made mine Tubbs the cat.”

“You both are traitors to Seijoh Sweets!” Oikawa whines, stomping his foot down on the ground for added emphasis.

Kyoutani glances over to Yahaba, the entire scene passing over him. As the trio had bickered, Yahaba had made his way back to Kyoutani’s side. Yahaba lets out a sigh, realizing the need to explain, “Kageyama was hired at the same time as Kindaichi and Kunimi. But Oikawa dismissed him after he insisted on working as head cake decorator immediately, citing his natural born talent, and wouldn’t listen to anybody else.”

Kyoutani squints, looking back over at the trio.

“Don’t worry about it, boss.” Hanamakki continues, patting Oikawa’s back, “It’s almost spring. Soon we’ll have lines out our doors too.”

“Wedding season.” Matsukawa agrees with a solemn nod.

Oikawa shakes their hands away and stomps toward the back of the bakery, “You think I’m not aware of that?” He mutters, as he disappears from sight.

Hanamakki snickers into his hand, Matsukawa sips at his coffee and Kunimi flips another page of his magazine. Yahaba lets out a sigh.

Kyoutani nudges his side, “Aren’t you going back to help Oikawa?”

Yahaba blinks at him, looking at him intently, “He’s probably going to cool down by talking to Iwaizumi-san first. I’ll give him a few minutes.”

Kyoutani blinks, and frowns, just as Yahaba snaps another picture of him. He glares. Yahaba clucks his tongue, “So close.”

“I wasn’t smiling.” Kyoutani snaps.

“Yeah, but you weren’t scowling either.” Yahaba counters, with a raised brow, “I’m pretty sure you _can’t_ smile at this point.”

Kyoutani decides to ignore him at this point, violently sweeping at the ground. Yahaba lingers a moment longer before heading to the back of the bakery, leaving Kunimi and Kyoutani to their posts.

Kyoutani can’t help turning his head to watch him go.

* * *

 

Kyoutani drums his fingers on the counter, stuck with the morning shift as cashier. Watari and Yahaba buzz around him, stocking up the display counter with fresh pastries and bread. The smell is intoxicating, enveloping the entire bakery. Kyoutani can feel his stomach growling but he pushes the thought away.

“Hungry?” Yahaba asks, because of course _he_ would notice. Kyoutani tries to ignore him, until a croissant is slipped in front of him on a simple wax sheet. He blinks, and looks over at his co-worker.

Yahaba has his own croissant in hand, “I had early morning shift with Matsukawa today, and made some extras.” He explains, perhaps a bit too quickly. He bites into his treat, watching Kyoutani expectantly.

Kyoutani feels his ears burn again, and maybe it’s getting worse, cause he can feel the heat sinking down into his neck. He swallows and looks down at the pastry, “Thanks.” He mutters.

There’s the snap of a camera and he looks back up wide eyed.

Yahaba huffs, “I could have _sworn_ you were smiling.” He sighs, pursing his lips. They’re flecked with little crumbs, and Kyoutani has the urge to wipe them off. But he refrains because that would be weird.

Instead he stuffs the croissant into his mouth with little ceremony, trying to play down how _delicious_ it is on his hungry pallet. He swallows it down in practically one bite.

“Yahaba, I’m heading back.” Watari calls from the back door. He’s wearing a smug little smile for reasons Kyoutani can’t decipher. Yahaba waves him off with a promise of returning to him soon. It’s beyond Kyoutani as to why he’s sticking around out front with him.

“So,” Yahaba begins, carefully, slowly. Kyoutany glances at him from the side, suddenly becoming aware of how close their standing next to each other. He can feel his body tense up, “You always seem pretty hungry...”

“It’s a bakery. A good one.” Kyoutani barks back, glaring at the front door.

Yahaba chuckles, “You’ll scare our customers with that kind of look.”

“I’m not smiling for you.”

Yahaba giggles into his hand, “Anyway,” He continues, “What I was trying to get at is, well, I mean, the bakery closes at around 5pm tonight right? So, would you want to, I don’t know, get dinner or something?”

Kyoutani stares at him, gears in his head working slowly because, to be honest, he stopped listening when he noticed the heat flushing Yahaba’s cheeks, and how he _still_ has flecks of croissant on his pink lips and--

The door chimes, creaking open.

The pair whip around to face the door, Kyoutani stands up straighter, hands closing into fists at his side. Yahaba straightens as well, but his mood seems to shift when he takes sight of the customer. His eyes widen fractionally, and he takes a tiny step back.

That is, before rocking forward in one fluid move to press his lips close to Kyoutani’s burning ears, “Don’t agree to anything he says, I’ll go get help. But don’t piss him off either.” He hisses, quietly, before slipping out completely.

Kyoutani’s neck is hot, and he can’t help the way his hand shoots up to touch at his ear, wide eyed and tense. He turns quickly back to the customer, who, having seen the entire exchange, seems completely unfazed. He’s got short black hair, small stern eyes and wears an expensive charcoal suit. He stands before him, neutral expression in place.

Kyoutani soon realizes he’s the one who needs to engage first, “What do you want?” He asks, gruffly, because he _hates_ the cashier shift.

The man blinks, squinting at him, “Is Oikawa Tooru here?”

Kyoutani furrows his brows, “Uh.” He thinks a moment, remembers it’s Saturday, meaning Oikawa and Iwaizumi both come to work after 10 am, for reasons beyond him. A perk as co-owners of the bakery? “No. He’s not.”

The man frowns, glances at his expensive rolex, “I see.”

Kyoutani raises a brow, “Your name?” He demands.

The man blinks, as if unused to needing to introduce himself. He rummages in his pocket before slipping out a business card, and handing it to Kyoutani. The very action irks Kyoutani to no end, but he takes the card just the same, Yahaba’s words echoing in his ears, _don’t piss him off_.

“Ushijima! Buddy, ol’ pal! It’s been a while!” Hanamakki calls, throwing the door open from the back. Yahaba scurries in after him. Kyoutani stays behind the counter. Hanamakki moves to stand in front of the customer, posture much more tense than his normal relaxed state. The customer towers over him. “What can I help you with?”

“I am here for the same reason as always. To discuss business matters with Oikawa Tooru.” The man responds simply.

Hanamakki grins, but Kyoutani can tell he’s gritting his teeth, “Now, now, that’s not necessary! Wasn’t the matter settled last time?”

“I have come with a better offer.” Ushijima counters, though the tone of his voice never seems to change.

“I’m sure you have, but I can _assure_ you, Oikawa has no interest in selling the place.” Hanamakki continues, holding his ground just the same.

Ushijima seems unaffected, “I would like to hear it from him, rather than an employee.” The comment makes Hanamakki twitch, but he says nothing, “I can wait.”

Hanamakki licks his dry lips, searching in his arsenal for something, _anything_ , “I’ll have him call you. It’s almost spring, you know how busy it gets. Plus, April 1st’s coming, can you believe it? It’s been a two years already! It’s a busy time for them. Let them be.” The last sentence seems almost like a warning, and Kyoutani swears Hanamakki’s eyes are a shade darker than normal. 

Ushijima frowns but seems to respect the importance of this statement, “I understand. Do tell Oikawa I was here.” He nods, only obliging Hanamakki before turning to leave the establishment. Hanamakki deflates when the coast is clear, wiping sweat off his brow.

“Ok, next time its Matsun’s turn to deal with him, got it?” He declares, stretching. “Oh and, don’t mention this to Oikawa, alright?” He adds, looking over at Kyoutani, “I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you, Hanamakki-san.” Yahaba murmurs, bowing his head deeply.

Hanamakki lets out a snort, ruffling his hair, “It’s fine. I’ll be in the back if you need me. Thing 1 and Thing 2 should be arriving any minute right? Just send them my way.” Kyoutani gives a quick nod, Hanamakki sends him a peace sign in response before slinking off to the back the bakery, most likely to embellish his recent ordeal to Matsun and win some pity points (that he can later cash in for free coffee).

Yahaba is about to follow suit when Kyoutani grabs his arm, pulling him away from the door. Yahaba looks back at him, wide eyed.

“Explain.” Kyoutani growls.

Yahaba flares up, “Huh?” before recognition flits across his face, “Oh. _Oh_. About Ushijima-san.”

Kyoutani blinks at him, fingers unconsciously digging into Yahaba’s skin, because he always clenches his hands into fists when he has nothing else to do with them. Yahaba winces and Kyoutani retracts his grip like he’s been burned by the oven.

Yahaba seems surprised at the action, but makes no comment, “Ushijima is one of the higher ups at Shiratorizawa. It’s a massive company in the business of buying small mom and pop shops like ours.”

“Mom and pop?” Kyoutani repeats.

“Independently owned. You know? This thing/s Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san’s child, practically.”

“Gross.” Kyoutani grunts. Yahaba squints at him then, as if re-examining him. Kyoutani wonders if he said something wrong, but he’s never really cared about what others thought of him. Still, he cant help squeezing his hands as Yahaba’s tone becomes more distant.

“This is Ushijima’s fourth attempt at buying Seijoh Sweets. Oikawa-san _hates_ him. It’s a good thing he wasn’t here.”

“It’s a good thing who wasn’t here?” Oikawa asks with an innocent batting of lashes as he and Iwaizumi enter the establishment. Kyoutani and Yahaba jump at the sudden entrance.

“Oikawa-san!” Yahaba greets, bowing, “Welcome back.”

“Did something happen?” Oikawa persists, pursing his lips and looking between the two with a raised brow.

“Let them be.” Iwaizumi huffs, stepping beside him, “We’ve got work to do.”

“Wait a second.” Oikawa murmurs, squinting his eyes and shooting his arm out to stop. He starts looking around the room carefully before freezing in place, “Oh my _God_. _”_

Iwaizumi blinks, “What is it?”

“Can’t you smell it? That strong cologne? _He_ was here.” Oikawa seethes, “How many times is he going to bother us? Does he not get it? We’re NOT for sale!”

“Calm down. You’re over-reacting. Yahaba, _was_ Ushijima even here?” Iwaizumi asks, quickly, stepping into his usual role of damage control.

Yahaba gives a nod because what else can he do.

“Fuck.” Iwaizumi hisses without meaning to, face flashing angry for a second before he recovers, “Alright, lets go to the back. We’ll figure it out.”

“We should egg his house.” Oikawa decides, firmly, hands scrunching his apron as he grips the fabric in his fists.

“No.”

“And then we can egg Tobio-chan’s house.” Oikawa continues with a tiny little nod.

“ _Oikawa_.” Iwaizumi snaps, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the back door, “Enough with the shitty fantasies.”

“You love my fantasies.” Oikawa counters with a wink, “Come on, be angry with me. I love it when you’re angry.”

Iwaizumi’s face reddens slightly as he shoves Oikawa out the door and into the back of the establishment roughly. Oikawa lets out a squawk shouting an addendum, “ _Not at me!_ Not when you’re angry _at me_!”

Kyoutani relaxes as the loud pair leave, and Yahaba straightens up to follow after them. Again, Kyoutani finds himself reaching out to stop him, grabbing at the aqua colored strings keeping his apron tied. Yahaba looks back at him.

Kyoutani swallows, quickly glaring to the side, “When are we eating again?”

There’s a moment of confusion painted across Yahaba’s face before his eyes light up in understanding, “Right after work! We’ll walk to some place in the city!”

Kyoutani lets him go. And he expects that to be it, but Yahaba lingers a moment longer. He lifts his hands and nudges the hat on Kyoutani’s head, fixing it back into place. Kyoutani stares at him, wide eyed, non comprehending.

“It was crooked.” Yahaba laughs, stepping back before adding, “I’m glad you picked the hat. It’s cute.”

Kyoutani stares at him.

Yahaba laughs a little harder, and pulls out his phone. Kyoutani realizes what he’s attempting and quickly looks away as the camera takes a picture, “Fuck off.” He growls.

After Yahaba has _finally_ left him, he grabs at the hat on his head and wrings it in his sweaty hands, face hot. He growls under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to swallow down the emotions welling up in his stomach that he’ll have to come to terms with at some point.

He lets out a breath and drop the hat on the counter. It’s simple and white and _not_ cute. He scowls, unwrinkling the garment and placing it back on his head with a huff. It’s then that the door chimes and woman sneaks in, wishing to pick up an order.

* * *

Kyoutani doesn’t expect the leap in his heart when he’s told, Monday morning, that he’ll be helping Yahaba and Oikawa with cake decorating, but it happens all the same. He can feel his face stretch out as he shows off his teeth to the world in an expression of pure glee. It’s enough to make Yahaba stare at him, long enough for Kyoutani to realize and quickly push the smile back down to a neutral line.

Yahaba seems dazed by it, and only a few minutes later does he realize he’s missed his chance for a photo. Kyoutani ignores him.

“Alright, kids,” Oikawa begins, clapping his hands together as he leads them to a freshly baked cake, “I’ve just finished covering this in white fondant, but now it’s time for some detail work. This is going to be a wedding cake, so it has to be _perfect_. Customer wants simple but elegant.” He recites, “Get to it.”

Yahaba and Kyoutani blink as Oikawa makes his way to leave. Yahaba scrambles to catch his attention, “Wait, you’re not going to lead us through it?” He questions, pointing towards Kyoutani, “He hasn’t even done this ever yet!”

“Yahaba, you’re an excellent teacher. I trust you both!” Oikawa calls with a smile.

“Oikawa-san!” Yahaba insists.

Oikawa winks at him, “I have a more important cake to work on.” He leans a bit forward, holding out his hand in front of his mouth as if telling a secret, “Don’t tell Iwa-chan, alright?”

Yahaba lets out a sigh and Oikawa spins back around in one fluid motion, leaving them to their assignment, “Alright, simple and elegant. What does that even mean?”

“Flowers.” Kyoutani mutters, pulling out a sheet of wax paper.

“Flowers?” Yahaba repeats.

Kyoutani nods, “White roses.”

“Why?”

“They’re my favorite to make.” Kyoutani shrugs, grabbing at the icing and getting to work. He takes the bowl of white icing and starts piling it into the baggie. He grabs a medium sized head, screwing it on. He looks around, grabbing a thin metal stick, that fans out into a flat square at the top, squeezing a dollop of icing on top. He takes a square of wax paper, smushing it on top, letting the cream hold it in place.

Yahaba blinks, watching his confident movements, “You’ve done this before?”

Kyoutani doesn’t look at him, face oddly serene, free of the angry wrinkles in his forehead, and the furrow of his brows. He squeezes the icing out onto the sheet, back and forth in little waves in a practiced rhythm, “Yeah.”

“When?” Yahaba continues, watching him closely, as he finishes the first rose. It’s beautiful.He takes the paper the flower rests on and delicately places it on the table, reaching for another wax square to repeat the process.

Yahaba isn’t expecting an honest answer, but the tension normally clinging to Kyoutani’s shoulders has seemingly evaporated into thin air. And when Kyoutani speaks, it’s softly, with only a hint of roughness at its edges, “I used to bake a lot with my mom.”

“Yeah?” Yahaba murmurs, smiling.

“Yeah.” Kyoutani agrees, and the corners of his lips perk up slightly, head down focused on the crafting of ornamental flowers. Yahaba feels the breath leave him at the sight and he scrambles to grab his phone and try to snap a picture.

Kyoutani places down the second flower and catches sight of what Yahaba’s attempting. He immediately scowls, much to Yahaba’s chagrin, “Make a fucking flower.”

Yahaba sighs, wilting, “That was such a good smile too.”

Kyoutani feels his ears burn and glares at his instruments as he picks up another sheet of wax paper, “Fuck off.”

Yahaba hums, and he picks up similar tools to get to work himself, “I’ll make some smaller open petals.”

They work in silence from there on, creating a nice bouquet of flowers, a collection of white roses and buds. They start piling them into trays and stick them in the freezer to harden. As they wait by the cake, Kyoutani can’t help but speak out, “Why are you obsessed with this picture thing?”

“Hmm?” Yahaba responds, “I wanted to see if you ever smiled.” He continues, simply.

Kyoutani rolls his eyes, frowning, “Why just me?”

“Everyone else smiles.” Yahaba answers carefully.

“Bullshit. Kunimi doesn’t smile. Neither does Iwaizumi-san.”

“Iwaizumi-san smiles plenty.” Yahaba counters, “Oikawa-san even got him to smile in his official photo for the website.”

“Did he?” Kyoutani huffs, crossing his arms and squeezing his fingers into his arms, digging them into his skin.

Yahaba takes out his phone to show him, pulling up the website and scrolling to Iwaizumi’s portrait. His smile is small but genuine, crinkling his eyes. Kyoutani squints.

“You’re the only one not smiling.” Yahaba continues, scrolling to his picture. Kyoutani takes the phone to look at himself, the furrow of his brow, the thin line of his lips. He gives the phone back.

“Why not just do what Oikawa did to make Iwaizumi-san smile.” Kyoutani growls, for reasons beyond him.

Yahaba blinks, and his cheeks redden a pinch as he looks at Kyoutani carefully. Then he takes a step forward, leaning in close and--

And pecks Kyoutani on the cheek with a soft, hesitant kiss.

Kyoutani’s face flames up at the touch and he jerks back, eyes wide and hand clapping onto the hot skin. Yahaba looks away, equally red, “See, you didn’t even smile...” He mutters, trying to force out a fake chuckle, as if it was all some sort of joke.

“What the _hell_ was that?!” Kyoutani barks, heartbeat erratic and palm sweaty against his own cheek.

“You told me to do it.” Yahaba retorts, frowning at the table.

“I did _NOT_.” Kyoutani snaps, taking his hand of his face so it simply hangs at his side.

“But that’s what Oikawa-san did to make Iwaizumi-san smile.” Yahaba continues, keeping his gaze down at the table.

“Why the hell would he kiss him?!”

Yahaba blinks, turning back toward him and tilting his head, “What do you mean why? They’re married?”

“They’re married!?” Kyoutani gasps, eyes widening at the information.

Yahaba stares at him before bursting into genuine loud laughter, “Are you serious?” He chokes out as he doubles over, “Are you _that_ oblivious?”

Kyoutani’s hands clench into fists at his sides, searching for a way to defend himself, “They don’t wear rings.”

Yahaba wipes a tear from his eye, “They do, just, not here. Not since the incident last year.”

“Incident?”

“Oikawa-san was making a King Cake for a customer and his ring fell into the batter. It was a good thing he realized before giving it up to the customer. Iwaizumi-san was furious. They spent like twenty minutes together searching for it in the baked cake. When Oikawa found it Hanamakki gave him a crown.” Yahaba recounts, chuckling at the memory.

Kyoutani squints.

“Because it was a King Cake? You know how they work? You find the thing in them and you become King? It was funny.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know they’re married if they don’t wear their rings at work? I only see them here.” Kyoutani insists, roughly.

“They come and leave work together. They own the place together. Their two year anniversary is coming up in like a week. Have you seen the way they _look_ at each other?” Yahaba counts off on his fingers.

Kyoutani glares at the table.

“I mean, look now.” Yahaba continues, pointing towards the bread making station, where Iwaizumi is busy kneading dough. Oikawa is pressed up close to him, whispering something in his ear and running his long fingers down his arm. Iwaizumi turns his head slightly, pecking his lips before nudging the other man away. Oikawa gives a little pout at that, disentangling himself from his husband but not before slapping his ass on his way out, making Iwaizumi jump. Iwaizumi sends him a fierce glare, and probably would have done more if he wasn’t covered in flour. Oikawa sticks his tongue out at him in return, sauntering away to his office.

“Ok.” Kyoutani is forced to agree, “You’re right.”

“Oh, I love hearing those words from you. Say them again.” Yahaba coos.

“Fuck off.” Kyoutani snaps, glancing at his watch. They still have time before the flowers are ready.

“I’ll add some trim to the cake in the meantime.” Yahaba decides to fill the silence, grabbing the icing and starting to add details to the plain dessert.

Kyoutani watches him critically, waits until he’s at the last tier, before speaking once more, “You kissed me.”

Yahaba jerks back slightly, but luckily doesn’t damage the cake, “Yeah.” He replies, “I did.”

“Because that’s what Oikawa did to Iwaizumi-san.” Kyoutani repeats, making sure he’s got this whole weird situation straight. If it really is _just_ that.

“Well,” Yahaba sighs, hesitantly, “Sortof.”

Kyoutani squints at him.

Yahaba licks his lips, “Oikawa-san didn’t...didn’t kiss him on the cheek.”

Kyoutani swallows, and he puts on a stern expression, “So you didn’t even do that right.”

“Excuse me?” Yahaba breathes, looking at him.

“Well?” Kyoutani growls, waiting.

 _Waiting_ , Yahaba realizes with wide eyes and suddenly fidgety hands. He swallows the spit in his mouth and steps forward, placing a hand carefully on Kyoutani’s face, cupping it to bring him closer. Kyoutani is having none of it, grabbing Yahaba’s wrist in a strong grip and taking a step forward, smashing their lips together.

The angle’s wrong and their noses bump together and their teeth clack. After the initial shock, Yahaba is quick to compensate, tilting his head to the side to line them up correctly. His hand relaxes, drooping down from where Kyoutani has it imprisoned in his fist.

Kyoutani pulls away as suddenly as he moved in, lifting his head back up. He glares at Yahaba, but his ears must be bright red. Yahaba laughs lightly, much to Kyoutani’s chagrin. Yahaba ignores his confusion, lifting his free hand to fix Kyoutani’s cap after it had gone askew.

Kyoutani blinks, squeezing his hands. Yahaba winces, and Kyoutani realizes his fidget meant his grip on the other’s wrist tightened. He releases the wrist, swallowing, “Sorry.”

Yahaba shakes his hand, sliding his newly freed hand down so he can clasp Kyoutani’s hand instead, “You’re still not smiling.” He hums, with a raised eyebrow, his eyes studying the way their fingers weave together before glancing his eyes back up to his face.

Kyoutani looks to the side, “Fuck off.”

Yahaba laughs again, louder this time, “I guess I’ll have to keep trying.”

Kyoutani wonders just _how_ red his ears must be. He licks is lips unconsciously, “I guess.” He mumbles, before pulling away.

Yahaba is all smiles, the kind that envelope his face and crinkle the corners of his eyes. And Kyoutani has to fight the urge to smile right back, wide and _real_ , if only because he’d like Yahaba to keep on trying.

**Author's Note:**

> such fluff  
> this was really fun to write but ive never written kyouhaba before so i hope i did them justice
> 
> thanks for reading!!!
> 
> see you next time


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